


The Unbuttoning of All Things

by internetconnection



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Badass Ladies, Bottom Carlos, F/F, M/M, POCecil, Top Cecil, femmeslash, night vale ensemble piece, sex work mentions, strippervale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetconnection/pseuds/internetconnection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I saw some of  <a href="http://goddess-in-green.tumblr.com/">goddess-in-green</a>'s art and some the works it inspired, and it made me want to do something different with this whole "stripper AU" idea. Because sex work is work, you know? And it totally sucks to have your place of employment taken over by an evil corporation.</p><p>StripperVale AU where Dana (the stage manager) and Maureen (an outgoing dancer) are dating, Cecil’s still a star, the club is under new terrible management, and the new guy with the weird smile is creeping everybody out.</p><p>And Cecil totally isn’t sleeping with that scientist, nuh-uh, because sleeping with customers is totally against the rules and Cecil would never break a rule, nope, never.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Backstage at the Body Electric

“Dana, have you seen my other boot?”  
  
Cecil had one elegant leg propped up on the dressing room makeup counter, knee-high boot half-laced. Dana scooped under one of the small piles of glittering, multicolored fabric littering the dressing room floor. “No, but here’s your other silver fishnet stocking, the green eyeliner, and oh, here we go. Boot,” said Dana, handing it to him.  
  
“I would never be the best-dressed exotic dancer in town without you, Dana.”  
  
The dressing room of Body Electric was smallish, with a makeup counter and mirror spanning one wall, and seating for about four people. The entrance was cloaked by a heavy curtain, beyond which was the main stage. Body Electric was located along a semipopulated piece of Route 800. It was next to The Body Organic, a vegan grocery co-op. This was next to a cemetery, which Cecil had grimly yet artfully nicknamed “the Body Remembered.”  
  
Cecil had a weird sense of humor sometimes.  
  
It was still early. Dana suspected that Cecil came in early because he felt at home here, that he enjoyed the feeling that was almost like being backstage in a theater. On very good days, Dana enjoyed it too. She was what some clubs would call a “house mom” – someone who wrangled dancers, who made sure the talent got onstage – but she preferred to think of herself as a stage manager. Someone who pulled all the pieces together to make sure the show ran smoothly.  
  
Today was already not a good day. Dana had come in early – new management had hired a new sound guy – and neither the new sound guy nor the new management were giving her the time of day.  
  
New sound guy poked his head through the curtain. “Two Beyoncés and a Madonna?” he said, pointing at Dana. Dana frowned, and pointed at Cecil. New guy disappeared.  
  
“Two Beyoncés and a Madonna is _my_ set,” Cecil said. “My warm-up set.* It’s like new management doesn’t even care who we are.”  
  
“Plus there’s no way he’s supposed to be in here,” said Dana.  
  
“Things have really gone downhill since new management raised the stage fees and fired all those bouncers named Erika,” Cecil said.  
  
“Erika was a really good bouncer! I mean, they all were,” Dana said. “You hardly had any problem patrons. I mean, there was Steve – “  
  
“There’s always _Steve_ ,“ Cecil said, with obvious contempt.  
  
“But the Erikas did a pretty good job of keeping you guys apart. And there was the guy, you know, who wore the plastic feathers – “  
  
“THAT GUY. What an asshole. Good thing he seems to have disappeared.”  
  
“Did you ever do a double, like, a stage act with another dancer?” Dana said, in an attempt to change the subject. “There has been a lot of turnover. Especially among the boys.”  
  
“Intern Paolo was too young,” Cecil said. He affectionately nicknamed anyone who had worked at the club less than a year “intern.” “I don’t know how old he was, but he was too young.”  
  
“And intern Brad,” said Dana.  
  
“Too straight,” said Cecil.  
  
“And intern Svee.”  
  
“Svee wasn’t bad,” said Cecil. “He wasn’t a dancer, by any means, but he was a big hunk of Scandinavian man-meat who got by just fine flexing a few of those muscles.”  
  
“And Intern Dylan! He’s coming in today, right?”  
  
“I think so. He just hasn’t been in too much lately. Also too young – not too young for here, just too young for me. Dancing alongside him would make me look ancient by comparison. He’s great though, very...” Cecil put a hand on his hip, imitating a pose. “...expressive.”  
  
“Oh my god, have you seen his Taylor Swift dance? I love him so much,” Dana gushed.  
  
“Speak of the devil,” said Cecil.  
  
"Dylan, did you walk all the way here? You're sweating buckets," Dana said.  
  
"I biked," Intern Dylan said. "I tried public transit once, and -- I won't get into it right now, but it was so not okay."  
  
“And you look like you’ve been...mauled by something that eats clothes,” said Dana, handing him some water.  
  
“I gave the stage fee guy my shirt when I came up short, he wasn’t impressed,” said Intern Dylan. It was unclear whether he was kidding. He was wearing just a pair of black athletic shorts that didn’t seem stage-ready. “We’re in the middle of the desert, and I’m going to take them off anyway. What do I need clothes for?” Intern Dylan half-joked. “I need money for a haircut and a massage, not a new pair of hot pants.”  
  
“Dylan, I’m sorry I didn’t think of this before,” Cecil said, turning toward Intern Dylan, “but if you’re looking for more work, I know a certain, how do I say, upstanding citizen – “  
  
“You mean Marcus Made-of-Money.”  
  
“Yes. That is _exactly_ who I mean.  I hear he’s looking for a pool boy, if that sounds like it might be your niche.”  
  
“Hm. Maybe,” said Intern Dylan. “How do you know Marcus?”  
  
“I’ve worked private parties for him before,” Cecil said. Dana was raising her eyebrows. “Please,” said Cecil. “It was strictly business.”  
  
“Is sleeping with him part of the pool-boy job description?” Intern Dylan asked.  
  
“Not if you don’t want to,” said Cecil. “Marcus has so much money to burn that he’s completely apathetic about rejection. He’ll just say ‘all right, whatever’ and ask somebody else. You should be fine, and if you’re not fine, call me. But I’m pretty sure Marcus would pay you to lounge by the pool.”  
  
“He paid me to teach his dog French,” interrupted a brash female voice. “I don’t speak French! And I’m 85% sure his dog can’t speak.”  
  
“Hi Maureen,” Cecil and Intern Dylan said in unison. Dana gave a little squeak and threw her arms around Maureen.    
  
“I missed you too,” Maureen said, kissing Dana’s neck. “You okay? You look a little wild-eyed.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Dana said. Maureen looked unconvinced.  
  
“Let me show you guys my new costume bullshit,” Maureen said, dumping a pile of black leather studded accessories onto the table.  “I’m gonna try out ‘heavy metal goth girl’ for a couple of nights.”  
  
Cecil regarded Maureen’s green-eyed, lightly freckled face. “I can see it,” he said. “I have all the black eyeliner you could ever want, but I hope you brought your own foundation.”  
  
“You’re going to wear a wig?” Dana said, noticing a small black hairpiece in the pile. “Is that going to stay on?”  
  
“Probably? I didn’t want to dye my hair. I like my hair,” Maureen said, shaking out her gingery chin-length waves.  
  
“I like your hair too,” Dana said softly.  
  
“And when I get bored of that, I can go back to calling myself ‘Trixie’ and dressing like Stripper Nancy Drew,”  Maureen said. “So, girlfriend,” she said, addressing Dana, “want to help me put on some temporary tattoos? I’m thinking the snake, on my ass.”  
  
“You’re hilarious,” said Intern Dylan.  
  
“Dylan, you need something to wear,” Maureen said, stripping down to a black thong bikini. “You want to borrow my cheerleader outfit?”  
  
“Songs?” said the sound guy, poking his head through the curtain again. He was pointing at Intern Dylan.  
  
“Uh, anything by Robyn, and the one that starts ‘it’s Britney, bitch.’”  
  
“There is _no fucking way_ you’re supposed to be in here,” Maureen said to the sound guy.  
  
“Too bad this isn’t part of the show,” said the sound guy, looking at how Maureen was bent over with Dana’s hand on her ass.  
  
“Ew, no,” said Maureen. “This –“ she gestured to herself and Dana, “this part is not for sale.”  
  
“You didn’t used to dance together?” the sound guy said.  
  
“I danced with Vithya,” said Maureen. “Which was _fine_ , cuz Vithya’s _straight_.”  
  
Dana walked over to the curtain. “You really can’t be in here,” she told the sound guy.  “I’ll be out of here in five minutes, and then if you need something from a dancer, you call me on the headset. None of this.”  
  
Sound guy put up his hands and backed out.  
  
“Jerk,” said Cecil.  
  
“Vithya would have made a good bouncer,” Intern Dylan mused. “Didn’t she, like, leave to go work for the Erikas?”  
  
“Oh, did I fucking tell you?” Maureen said to Cecil. “Sound guy was asking me about you. He was like, ‘the one with the long hair, what is he?’”  
  
“As in, that mixed-race guy, he’s confusing,” said Cecil.  
  
“Yep,” said Maureen. “And I mean, he clearly has a problem. He thought Vithya and Dana were the same person, and they look nothing alike.”  
  
“Luckily, I’m a little bit of everything,” Cecil said, with bitter sarcasm. Over the years, he had been cast in every “brown guy” role a customer could dream up. “I can do the samba, a little belly dance  – one of these days, we’re going to open our own legitimate dance studio. You can teach pole tricks to bored housewives, it’ll be great.”  
  
“Oh, here you all are,” said a soft, friendly-seeming male voice. “I missed you all when I was out on the floor. You know, working.”  
  
Everyone turned to look at the new arrival. He had a smile bigger than should have been humanly possible, but his eyes were not smiling. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself,” said the newcomer. “I’m Kevin.”  
  
Cecil was almost visibly recoiling from the newcomer. “Do I...know you?”  
  
“You must be Cecil,” Kevin said gleefully. “The featured performer. I’ve heard so much about you! Actually, the management wanted me to tell you, we want to make extra sure we don’t have any ...inappropriate contact with patrons. You understand.”  
  
“I do understand,” said Cecil, innocence in his voice. “I’ve always understood that. Kevin, I’m a professional. _We_ are professionals. I’ve been at this a long time.”  
  
“We just wanted to make sure,” said Kevin, smiling his too-large smile again.  
  
“We don’t fuck customers for money here,” Maureen said, raising her voice a little. Maureen had a low tolerance for people who didn’t say what they meant.  
  
“Oh!” said Kevin, feigning sweetness again. “Oh that’s good to hear! We wouldn’t think of such things! We were hoping – “ here he looked back at Cecil, “—you weren’t fucking customers at _all_.”

Cecil turned back to his makeup. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“You seem to have a few regulars, Cecil. A scientist?”  
  
“I have a dual degree in Physics and Theater Performance, with a concentration in Vocal Acoustics,” said Cecil, swishing purple glitter over his eyelid with a makeup brush. “Some patrons like a temporary companion who can keep up a conversation on those topics.”  
  
“I don’t get this,” said Intern Dylan. “Are you management? Does management wear gold lamé shorts now?”  
  
“Oh, no,” said Kevin. “I’m a new hire. I think management has a great vision for this place. Really innovative. Oh, that’s the other thing,” he said, clearing out loose bills from his shorts and neatly stacking them into a yellow zipper purse, “management wants us on the floor as much as possible when we’re not on stage. Service with a smile!”  
  
“This isn’t fucking McDonald’s,” Maureen said. “That’s not how it works. That has never been how it works. We’re independent. We make money when we’re on, we get on the floor as much or as little as we want, and if somebody’s being an abusive creep, we can walk away. That’s like, the main thing that makes this job bearable. We make more money from customers who are decently polite, anyway.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to upset anyone,” Kevin said. “Hug it out?”  
  
Everyone in the dressing room held still. “Well, back to work!” Kevin said cheerfully, and swooped back out into the club.  
  
“Sooo...is anybody else kinda creeped out?” Intern Dylan asked.  
  
“That man is a demon,” Cecil said. He was not kidding. “Dana, are you all right? You’re shaking pretty badly.”  
  
“Dana,” said Maureen, wide-eyed, “when was the last time you ate?”  
  
“I don’t remember,” said Dana, looking away.  
  
Cecil pulled three granola bars out of his satchel and pressed them into Dana’s hand. “Have these for now.”  
  
“You’re very kind,” said Dana. “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”  
  
“You aren’t,” said Cecil, and Maureen, and Intern Dylan.  
  
“I have to go check on – the guy,” said Dana. “I’ll be back.”  
  
“We’re going to take turns keeping an eye on her tonight, right?” Maureen said to Cecil and Intern Dylan. “That’s obvious, right?”  
  
“Yes,” they both said. Cecil and Dylan hugged Maureen, each resting a face on her shoulder.  
   
“I really don’t want to end up taking her back to the hospital,” Maureen said. “I don’t even want to take her back to her apartment, it’s practically in the middle of that sketchy-ass park.”  
  
“Tell you what,” said Cecil. “You can both stay over at my place tonight. I have plenty of space and plenty of soft food, the works, and she can take the day off there.”  
  
“A paid day off,” Cecil added. “I need a cat-sitter.”  
  
  
  
*Cecil’s warm-ups are “Partition,” “Get Me Bodied,” and the Madonna song “Hung Up,” which also doubles as a message to a _special someone._  
**When asked about a specific Robyn song, Intern Dylan said “Don’t Fucking Tell Me What To Do,” and got in trouble.


	2. Smoothies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dana and Maureen snuggle and talk at Cecil’s place. When a labcoat-wearing visitor shows up, they get the real story about him and Cecil.

“You’re a weird little kitty,” Dana said, tickling the bottom of Khoshekh’s chin so he looked up at her with his one good eye. “And you look like you’ve been in a fight with someone much bigger than you. But you’re very sweet.”  
  
“Aww, thanks! You too,” said Maureen, stirring from the pile of sheets beside her. They were in Cecil’s queen-size bed in an otherwise empty house. It was almost noon, which Maureen decided was still “early” for someone who worked the late shift.  
  
Maureen yawned, stretched, and opened the bedroom door. “Who knew Cecil’s place was so nice?” Maureen said, looking out into the rest of the apartment. “I mean, I expected the outfits,” she said, indicating the knee-length leopard-print robe she had borrowed from Cecil’s closet. “But this place is huge, and new, and well-maintained...”  
  
“Well, he does have at least two sugar daddies,” Dana said.  
  
“Marcus, and..?”  
  
“You haven’t heard him go on about Carlos the scientist?” Dana laughed. “They’re always talking and texting when Cecil thinks nobody is looking. I hear him on the phone right before he comes in to work, and right after he leaves. ‘Hi Carlos! How’s _science_?’”  
  
“I think I’ve seen him in the club,” Maureen said. “Big bush of curly hair, big smile? I saw Cecil giving him a lap dance once, and I remember thinking, that is the cuddliest form of grinding I’ve ever seen.”  
  
“Where’d Cecil go, anyway?” Maureen said, wandering toward the kitchen. “Do you think he has a day job?”  
  
Dana shrugged.  
  
“Holy crap,” said Maureen, looking at the pile of fresh fruit and shiny new kitchen wares. Maureen returned to the bedroom doorway, holding an orange in one hand and a mango in the other. “I’m making smoothies.”

 

   
“Too much orange?” Maureen said. “There were so many oranges, it was almost weird.” She set her glass down on the bedside table. “Here, you don’t have to get up.” She sat next to Dana, on the bed, arms touching.  
  
“Thank you,” said Dana, setting aside the juice. “It’s good. I’m still...I’m sorry. I’m not...here, exactly.”  
  
Maureen took her hand. “How do you mean?”

Dana slumped into Maureen. “Do you ever feel as though you’re inhabiting a slightly different reality from the people around you?” Dana said. She lay down on Maureen’s lap and gestured up toward the ceiling. “It’s as though, I exist, and everyone else exists, and we can sometimes communicate, but I’m actually very far away.”  
  
“You mean emotionally,” Maureen said.  
  
“Yes. And sometimes that other place is a physical loop that I can’t get out of, no matter how fast I run. And sometimes it is a flat expanse. And sometimes I look and sound like I’m here, but my mind doesn’t feel like it is,” Dana said. “I’ve decided that it’s okay if you think that sounds crazy. It might be.”  
  
Maureen was quiet for several seconds. “My episodes are different,” she said. “Sometimes if I’m really down, it’s like I’m not here, but sometimes I don’t even remember those parts. It’s when I feel better – and I pretty much always feel better – it’s like I’ve blinked back into existence. Then I look back and think: where _was_ I? Where did I _go_?” She looked down at Dana. “But you know that I’m here for you. As much as I can possibly be.”  
  
Dana nodded.

  
“You should write a – what do poets write? Chapbooks? Yours would be good,” Maureen said.  
  
“I don’t want to bring you down,” Dana said.  
  
“Nope,” said Maureen. “You won’t. Absolutely not. Besides,” she said, rolling over, sitting Dana up, “you know what I was thinking we look like?”  
  
Dana eyed Maureen’s enthusiasm with mock suspicion. “Is this another musical theater reference?”  
  
“YES. And I cannot fucking believe I didn’t think of it before! You know _Rent_?”

“A little.”  
  
“Come on, yes you do. You have to. You remember how there’s this kinda wild performer type _named Maureen_ , and her more straight-laced attorney girlfriend, and they have this duet about it, and she’s like _I hate mess but I lo-o-ove you..._ “  
   
Dana cracked a smile. “That’s my part.”  
  
Maureen grinned. “You gonna sing?”  
  
A key scraped in the lock of the apartment’s front door. Maureen and Dana heard the sound of the knob turning, the door creaking open, and footsteps into the apartment. They held very still. _What the fuck,_ Maureen mouthed silently.  
  
“Cecil?” Dana said quietly.  
  
The owner of the footsteps didn’t seem to hear. He entered the bedroom, not looking at the bed, distracted by something in his pockets. Facing away from the bed, he began to remove his labcoat.  
  
Maureen and Dana gawked, silently. Khoshekh hopped off the bed, and began rubbing his sides against the strangers’ ankles.  
  
“No, Khoshekh,” said the stranger, turning around to dodge the cat. “You secrete glycoproteins which make me sneeze.” He picked Khoshekh up and placed him carefully on the bed. Then he looked up, seeing Dana and Maureen, and jumped.  
  
“ _Carlos_ ,” Maureen and Dana said breathlessly, in unison.  
  
“I’m confused,” said Carlos, noting the two girls in Cecil’s bed. “Perhaps I am in the wrong place.”  
  
“This is Cecil’s,” Dana said. “We were having a rough night, and he let us stay over. We’re his friends, you know, from work?”  
  
Maureen had gotten up, and was face-to-face with Carlos, her forehead nearly touching his mass of wiry curls. She smiled. “I like your hair.”  
  
“I’m going to text Cecil,” Carlos said, pulling his phone back out of his pocket.  
  
“Sure you are,” said Maureen. “And then you’re going to tell us what’s up, because I bet it’s amazing.”  
  
“Dear Cecil,” Carlos narrated as he typed. “Two girls from the strip club in our apartment, and they’re demanding _I_ tell _them_ what the deal is.”  
  
“ _Our_ apartment?” Dana said.  
  
“Well!” Maureen said. “That’s why the kitchen is so spotless. They _just moved in_.” Maureen sat on the edge of the bed. “How did you pull that off?”  
  
“How did I pull off...moving in with my boyfriend?” Carlos didn’t seem unfriendly, just perplexed. “Well, I was thinking about the series of ongoing actions that we perceive as the present – “  
  
“But why did you keep it a secret?” Maureen said.  
  
“Well, sort of a secret,” Dana said.  
  
A second set of footsteps approached the apartment and entered the bedroom.  “Sorry, Carlos, I forgot to message you about the change of plans –“  
  
“Cecil?” said Dana, looking at his outfit. “I hardly recognize you.”  
  
Cecil had his long, black hair looped up through a ponytail. He was wearing slacks, a light pink button down shirt, and small silver-rimmed glasses.  
  
“Are you wearing khakis?” Maureen gawked.  
  
“I came from the lab,” Cecil said, giving a confused Carlos a hug. “I do experimental radio during the day. Sometimes I’ll wear a nice pair of leggings with graphics on them, but platform heels would be a bit much. This is Dana and Maureen, Carlos,” Cecil said. “They’re taking care of Khoshekh for the day. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”  
  
“You said we were taking the afternoon off,” Carlos said. “I did.”  
  
“We can still do that,” Cecil said.  
  
“We can leave you guys alone in a hot second,” Maureen said. “But you gotta tell us how this happened. You guys want smoothies? I made smoothies. They’re awesome.”

 

 

  
They stood in Cecil and Carlos' kitchen, frozen drinks in hand. “I didn’t even want to go to the strip club at first,” Carlos said. “Some coworkers of mine thought it would be funny, and I’m naturally a little curious, so it was hard to say no. And then this guy latches on to me, and I figure it’s an act – “  
  
“It’s usually an act!” Cecil said. “I’m an entertainer. It’s usually part of the act to say, ‘I don’t usually do this, but...’ and then offer them a discount on a dance. But with Carlos I’m too nervous. He is, no joke, the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And he’s wearing a labcoat. So I get up the nerve, and I ask him about science.”  
  
“And he knows plenty about physics and engineering, but he’s trying to downplay it,” Carlos said. “I’m more of a biochem guy, but we still have plenty to talk about. He’s dancing up on me and trying not to stand out, but he’s whispering to me, ‘if time is theoretical, what are we doing right now?’ And he slips me his number at the end of it, and I don’t touch it, because I figure it’s a joke. Strippers don’t give out their numbers to guys in clubs.”  
  
“And it is excruciating, because I think I’m not going to see him again,” Cecil said.  
  
“But I do come back!” Carlos said. “Not too often, but every two weeks or so. And I really do like Cecil’s feature dance, it’s very avant-garde.”  
  
“He starts coming up with reasons to talk to me,” said Cecil. “He says, ‘Cecil, I need your opinion.’ Or ‘I’m not calling for personal reasons.’”  
  
“I like your opinions,” Carlos said. “You’re a very smart guy. I especially like your opinions when they’re delivered in your amazing voice.”  
  
“And we had some good conversations!” Cecil said. “It was still forever before we hooked up.”  
  
“Yeah, that took a while,” Carlos agreed.  
  
“It took a year,” Cecil said. “I kept count.”  
  
“It was after that terrorism scare,” Carlos said. “You remember what happened? There were supposedly a bunch of bombs planted under the overpass of that five-lane highway. That Homeland Security official, Williams, his data just did not add up at all. I’m not real political, but using bad science to intimidate the public, to keep people ignorant, that gets to me. So I went in, and I was going to take readings and pictures and disprove the threat. Except – there were a few bombs. Tiny bombs. Not enough to take out the bridge or destroy the city, like Homeland Security was claiming. Just enough to hurt a couple of people.”

“I monitor all the police radios from my radio lab,” Cecil said. “They were following a man who had gone under the highway, and I could tell from their description that it was Carlos. And there were explosions – tiny explosions, but still – and they said Carlos had fallen, and I thought – “ Cecil’s voice broke, here “—I thought we had lost you.”  
  
Cecil and Carlos were holding hands now. A small tear may have formed in Cecil’s eye.  
  
“But there was another guy there,” Carlos said. “The news reports later said he was an EMT, but I don’t even think he was licensed. He pulled me out, and he took the brunt of the explosions. And it turned out it was someone Cecil had met? Someone else from the club. He didn’t make it.”  
  
“That dead, racist jerk was a good man,” Cecil said.  
  
“I spend a little while in the hospital, a little dazed, some blood loss, but I was fine. And when I came to, I couldn’t remember what I had been afraid of. My fears seemed insignificant. It made me wonder – who did I have, in this world? Who did I have if I needed to hold someone, if I needed someone to hold me? There was a message from Cecil on my phone. I called him back.”

“That’s adorable,” said Maureen.  
  
“That’s kind of disturbing,” said Dana.  
  
“So there are a few things I don’t get,” Maureen said. “Lots of dancers have boyfriends and/or girlfriends. Why didn’t Carlos just stop going to the club?”  
  
Carlos smiled shyly. “I felt like if I couldn’t spend my evenings with Cecil, there wasn’t much point.”  
  
“Oh my god you guys are SUCH DWEEBS,” Maureen said. “That’s AWESOME.”  
  
“He understands the application of my creative energy,” Cecil said. “That was huge. And I like being a performer. Experimental radio is my other passion, but it doesn’t pay.”  
  
“Recently we’ve been trying something else out, though, with our opposite schedules,” Carlos said. “If it’s no longer feasible to try and be together in the evening, we each try to take an afternoon off.”  
  
“All right,” said Maureen, taking Dana by the elbow. “Let’s leave them alone so they can frick frack.”  
  
 “What did she call it?” they heard Carlos guffaw behind them. They didn’t hear the answer as Cecil closed the bedroom door behind them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Let’s see if I can make the next chapter entirely frick frack_


	3. The Unbuttoning of All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maureen and Dana (who stayed over at Cecil’s) and Cecil and Carlos (in the other room) get it on during an afternoon off.
> 
>  

Maureen waggled her eyebrows at Dana. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”  
  
Maureen and Dana were on Cecil’s living room couch, within sight range of Cecil and Carlos’ shut bedroom door. They could hear muffled voices from beyond the door, Cecil’s baritone and Carlos’ more tenuous tenor, something that sounded like laughter, but couldn’t make out any words.  
  
“I feel like we get the gist of what they’re doing,” Dana said.

Maureen repositioned herself, straddling the seated Dana. Dana was still wearing her jeans and black “stage manager” t-shirt from the night before. Maureen was still wearing the silky leopard-print knee-length robe she had “borrowed” from Cecil, admittedly without asking, and not much else. “I mean, _real specifically_ , what do you think they’re doing?” Maureen said.

“You are bad,” Dana said. She tried not to smile, but smiling won out. “You are, and you know it.”  
  
“Me, bad? Me, do anything that’s not entirely innocent and completely forthcoming?” said Maureen, mimicking the depth and cadence of Cecil’s speaking voice. “I am an _upstanding citizen_ , who just happens to have a decade’s worth of bangin’ stripper moves under his belt.”  
  
Dana thought Maureen’s Cecil impression was frighteningly good.  
  
“And you,” Maureen continued, taking the elastic out of the bun in Dana’s hair and letting the natural curls fall. Maureen touched them lovingly. “Dear, sweet, perfect Carlos, what could you possibly want with me?”  
  
Dana gasped. Maureen was grinding up against her, the silky robe starting to fall open. Dana could see enough of Maureen’s body to tell that she was wearing a pair of small pink underpants under the robe, and nothing else.  
  
“Scientifically speaking,” Dana said, keeping up the game, pausing to gasp each time Maureen pushed hard between her legs, “I would like to act on the rising oxytocin levels which – ah – result from – eep! – aggressive physical stimulation of each other’s bodies, and I want – ahhhh – I want it with you.”  
  
Dana brought herself up to a kneel, and kissed Maureen. She loved kissing Maureen. Maureen tasted like a cold drink of water in the desert, and sounded like a promised end to the drudgery of everyday existence – if she wasn’t always ready to laugh, which she wasn’t, she was definitely always ready to flip off somebody who totally deserved it. Dana appreciated both of these qualities deeply.  
  
And Maureen understood Dana’s sensitivities around her own body, which Dana also deeply appreciated. Dana knew Maureen wasn’t going to push her – but here Maureen was pushing herself, pushing her breasts into Dana’s hands, her face near Dana’s face. Dana felt weak and no longer thought it was from physical hunger, but that Maureen was beautiful in ways that she wasn’t equipped to deal with. Maureen was pushing her tongue into Dana’s mouth, which was good, Dana was pushing back, and then Dana let her tongue make a path down Maureen’s neck, over her clavicle, and around down her nipples.  
  
“Fuck me,” Maureen said.  
  
“Out here?” Dana said, turning from Maureen’s chest to look up at her.  
  
“They won’t care, they’re busy,” Maureen said, barely flicking her eyes toward the bedroom door. “Besides,” said Maureen, a wicked gleam in her eye, “I dare you to.” Maureen said this because she knew Dana had never, and would never, back down from a dare.  
  
“That wasn’t necessary,” Dana said.  
  
“Whatcha gonna do?” Maureen teased. She shimmied out of the robe, burlesque style. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, she let it drop to the floor. “Whoops.”  
  
Maureen leaned forward and Dana dodged, causing Maureen to land on all fours on the couch. Dana landed a hard smack on Maureen’s ass, where remnants of the previous night’s temporary tattoo still lingered.  
  
“Whoa!” yelled Maureen, not unhappily.

“Didn’t you once dare me to do that too?” Dana said.  
  
“I did!” Maureen said, a little too loudly, a little thrown off by the element of surprise. “I’m impressed!” Maureen caught her breath, wiggled a little, and looked back at Dana. “One more, for symmetry’s sake?”  
  
Dana obliged.  
  
“That’s nice,” said Maureen, laying herself down on her stomach and then flipping over, lying on her back, propping herself up on her elbows. Dana loomed over Maureen, and kissed her again. Maureen moaned, wanting.  
  
Dana wanted to be everywhere at once. She wanted to take her tongue down Maureen’s sternum, and over her mons. She wanted to kiss her way in, from the inside of Maureen’s knee to the inside of her thighs. She wanted to stay on Maureen’s mouth, because Maureen’s mouth was still beautiful and wanting.  
  
Dana almost pondered the possibility of being everywhere at once, if any of this was real, but knew this was not important at the moment.  
  
Dana kissed her way inward – it was the closest to how she felt, and she felt like more kissing – from the inside of Maureen’s thigh to the wedge creases against her legs, to kissing and nuzzling her folds. She held Maureen’s hips and let Maureen guide her toward her own pressure point, and she gave that pressure point a series of very long kisses, with generous tongue.  
  
Maureen tried to say something, but it only came out as burbling. This was a good sign.  
  
Dana knelt up and put two fingers inside Maureen, hooking her fingers, pulling forward. Maureen’s eyes went wide and she started swearing, but only slightly more than usual. Dana kept her eyes on Maureen's face as her head tilted back, as Dana carefully pushed her fingers in and out of her.  
  
Maureen’s orgasm was a plunge and a pulse, a yell and a tightening around Dana’s hand. Dana kept her hand inside Maureen until the spasms stopped, and she felt her pulse synch up with Maureen’s pulse, felt herself having sympathy spasms, echoes of the same orgasm, until it shivered up inside her and became real. Dana snuggled, half-collapsed, beside Maureen, her arms around her ribs.  
  
“You’re the best fucking girlfriend,” Maureen said, still deep in the snuggle, when she had recovered a little breath. “This town is full of terrible fucking things, but you? You fucking rule.”  
  
They cuddled in silence for a few moments. From beyond the bedroom door, they could hear little rhythmic cries, too high pitched to be Cecil.  
  
“Huh,” said Maureen. “You would have thought Cecil was the screamer, right?”

  
  
  
  
Cecil stood eye to eye with Carlos, their arms around the other’s waists. “I’m still not over your whole business casual look today,” Carlos said. “It looks great, but so...unusual.”  
  
“And I’m still not over this!“ Cecil said, touching the patterns on the t-shirt Carlos had been wearing under his lab coat. “I mean, are those glow-in-the-dark dinosaurs?”  
  
Carlos laughed, genuinely, and looked back up into Cecil’s dark eyes. “Come here, gorgeous,” said Carlos, carefully taking off Cecil’s glasses and setting them on the dresser, un-looping Cecil’s long, black hair from its ponytail. He touched each button on Cecil’s pink button-down shirt, internally counting, appreciating their shape.  
  
“Am I going to need to undo all those buttons?” Carlos asked.  
  
Cecil smiled, and took a step backward. He made a show of loosening the collar at his neck, and the cuffs of his sleeves. Then, in one graceful motion, he had pulled off the shirt and tossed it aside with a flourish, apparently without unbuttoning, un-snapping, or tearing any part of it.  
  
Carlos was impressed. He was unable to analyze the geometry of what had just happened. He was relatively sure it was a trick, or something impossible – Cecil did do impossible things sometimes, in his dance routines – but he was now distracted by Cecil’s lean and muscular brown body, the curvature of his shoulders and arms, the indentations on his chest and abdomen formed by years of dance practice.  
  
Carlos stepped forward and held Cecil close, his arms wrapping around him, his hands exploring the smooth skin of Cecil’s newly naked back. Carlos kissed him once, slowly, on the mouth, and then let his hands drift to Cecil’s waist. He undid the buckle of Cecil’s belt, letting his work khakis fall to the floor -- less graceful than Cecil, yes, but nobody else was watching. (Though Cecil did step out of them, and sweep them aside with a graceful foot.) Carlos ran his fingers along the inside of the elastic of Cecil’s boxers, and then along the fabric of the outside, feeling his hips and sides, rubbing the curve of Cecil’s ass. Carlos brought his hands to Cecil’s front, and knelt down.  
  
“Carlos – “ said Cecil, almost in protest, and Carlos shook his head lightly, meaning, _we talked about it. You might feel like you don’t deserve this, but you do._ Carlos rubbed his hands over the fabric outline of Cecil’s erect cock. Cecil was big – Carlos hadn’t measured exactly, and didn’t intend to, but Cecil’s cock was bigger than Carlos’ hand, palm base to fingertip, and wide. Carlos eased Cecil’s boxers down and took him in his mouth.  
  
“Carlos,” Cecil said again, in less protestation this time. Carlos ran his tongue up and down Cecil’s length, settling his tongue under the head of Cecil’s cock. He pressed his lips around it and drew back and forward, breathing steadily, trying to keep a rhythm. Carlos had a strong desire at that moment to belong to Cecil, more than he possibly could. He had a moment of fleeting fantasy of getting face-fucked, hard, of being used for pleasure – something he knew Cecil wouldn’t do, or wasn’t ready to. Cecil could hardly stand the idea of doing anything to hurt his delicate, dark-skinned scientist, but they had worked out a few things. Cecil reached down and pulled a small handful of Carlos’ hair, and Carlos whimpered in appreciation.

Cecil put his hand on Carlos’ chin and tipped his face upwards. Carlos released Cecil’s cock and Cecil drew Carlos up to face him, kissing him, as if to say, _enough of me. Now for you._  
  
“You seem anxious,” Cecil said. It was a concern, not a judgment.  
  
Carlos realized that his measured breathing had gotten much faster, and he could feel the creeping concerns of the world outside their bedroom edging in again, pins and needles on his body. Their earlier conversation had triggered a peripheral, distant vision of the tiny explosions under a bridge, of an unseen person dying. He wanted Cecil’s large hands on him, to push the bad feelings out. He wanted Cecil to be as much as Cecil would agree to be.  
  
“Please fuck me,” Carlos said, staring into Cecil’s beautiful face. “That would definitely help.”  
  
Cecil put a strong hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “Shall I undress you?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
Cecil knew Carlos was very meticulous about dressing and undressing, that he found the repetition calming. He pulled off Carlos’ shirt and folded it neatly on the dresser. Each item Cecil took off Carlos, he folded neatly and added to the pile, including socks and underwear. Each time he returned to Carlos, he kissed him in the same spot, at the nape of his neck on the right side.  
  
When Carlos was naked, Cecil held him from behind, kissing his neck, lightly breathing in the scent of his curls. “Dear, sweet, beautiful Carlos,” Cecil said, running his hands up and down Carlos’ sides. “Somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, I must have done something good.”  
  
Cecil took Carlos to the bed. He slipped a condom onto Carlos’ erection, knowing it relaxed Carlos to not have to worry about making a mess if he came. Cecil kissed Carlos, lightly massaging his shoulders, still surprised, even after so many months, that he had the pleasure of feeling Carlos’ beautiful skin under his fingertips. Cecil gently turned Carlos over, and Carlos settled on his stomach, head on a pillow, facing the head of the bed.  
  
Cecil took two more condoms and a small bottle of lube. He rolled the first condom over his own cock – Carlos liked to be neat – and the second over the first two fingers of his right hand. He coated the two protected fingers in lubricant and eased them between Carlos’ buttocks, not entering him yet, but applying enough pressure to let Carlos know he was there. Cecil saw Carlos smile. Continuing to push his right hand against Carlos, Cecil leaned the rest of himself up, kissing Carlos’ neck, kissing down his spine, leaving a lingering kiss at his spine’s base. Cecil pushed his fingers into Carlos, and heard Carlos gasp.  
  
“Thank you Cecil,” Carlos whispered. Cecil put his left hand on Carlos’ back, applying more pressure the way Carlos liked, to remind Carlos that he was there. Cecil made a few more pulls in and out, to make sure Carlos was ready. Impossibly beautiful Carlos was already rocking his hips and rubbing his erection against the mattress. Cecil knew this meant Carlos was at a point where his desire was so strong that he could no longer be self-conscious. Cecil felt immensely flattered, and deeply wanted, and eager to help, and very, very hard.  
  
Cecil took his fingers out of Carlos and gently guided his cock in, watching Carlos’ breaths, both tense and relieved. He put his body on top of Carlos, knees resting just outside Carlos’ legs, forearms resting on the bed near Carlos’ shoulders. He looked down on Carlos’ face, bent down to kiss it, and then propped himself back up. He made a few careful, soft thrusts and watched Carlos’ reaction.  
  
Carlos made an “mmm” that sounded like “more.”  
  
Cecil thrust faster, and Carlos closed his eyes and cried out in a mix of pleasure, need, a sense of being overwhelmed, and a sense of being touched very deeply, both literally and figuratively. His cry reached a higher pitch, and his hips moved faster, and Cecil’s hips moved faster in response.  
  
Cecil was no longer thinking about touching Carlos just right – he was clearly getting something right – and watched Carlos’ face, beautiful Carlos, who just wanted to be all _his_ \--  
  
Cecil’s orgasm was a sense of his cock letting go, of a tingling that started in his heart and his toes, and shot through his body, down into his cock and into the body of the perfectly imperfect scientist.  
  
Carlos could feel Cecil’s orgasm within him, and his whole body shivered in response. Carlos’ orgasm was every bit of tightness leaving his body, was him floating off into space, or laying right where he was, feeling like more of a beautiful, wobbly mass than a human being. Like a very content pile of gelatin.  
  
“I love you,” Cecil said quietly, and it hung in the air for several moments.  
  
Carlos, finally able to speak, giggled. “I love you too,” he said. “I am _high as fuck_ on endorphins right now, so don’t trust anything else I say, but it’s still safe to say I love you.”  
  
“Hold still,” Carlos added. “I’m not ready to move yet, and you on top of me is yummy.”

Cecil let his cock shrink inside Carlos. He snuggled his face to the side of Carlos’ face, and they listened to each other breathe, in and out.  
  
A buzzing sound next to the bed broke the silence. Carlos, his face closer to the bedside table, could see that it was Cecil’s phone.  
  
“You can get that,” Carlos said.  
  
“I kind of don’t want to,” Cecil said. “That seems like a faux pas.”  
  
Cecil’s phone buzzed again. “Then I will,” Carlos said, grabbing the phone. “Uh, Cecil, it’s from Marcus. And it’s _weird_. Wait, no, it says it’s not from Marcus.”  
  
Cecil mentally let out a sigh of relief.  
  
“ _This is Intern Vithya_ ,” Carlos read aloud. “ _The angels have the cellphone_. What is _that_ supposed to mean?”  



	4. A Terrible Light, Some Angels, and a Naked Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrible light has taken over the club. No, seriously, it’s awful. An unnerving, smiley corporation threatens the club’s workers, and only banding together can fend them off.

“I don’t normally say this,” Cecil said, staring ahead into the interior of the club, “but I take offense.”  
  
“No, I agree,” Dana said, staring ahead with Cecil. “This had to be the new management’s idea. New management must not understand the gravity of what they have done here.”  
  
“Fucking hell,” said Maureen. “Fucking horrorshow.”  
   
“Who puts _florescent lighting_ in a _strip club_?” they said together.  
  
“How did they even get this kind of renovation done in a day?”  Dana wondered aloud. “The place looks completely different.”  
  
“Fucking orange countertops,” Maureen said, shaking her head. “What do they think this is, that chain of Hooters knockoffs that just moved in one town over?” Maureen put a hand on Dana’s shoulder. “Shit, I think it is! Does anybody actually remember New Management’s name?”  
  
“The ones with the unnerving smiley face logo?” Dana said. “Yes, I have a bad feeling about them.”   
  
“This will be our undoing,” a voice drawled, slowly, from behind them.  
  
“Who said that?” Cecil said, still staring into the light, his voice far away.  
  
“John Peters, you know, the bartender?” Dana and Maureen said together.  
  
“I apologize,” said Cecil. “I am – disoriented. And unnerved. And distressed.”  
  
“Their name is S.G. Holdings,” said the bartender, in his wandering southern accent. “They are an international conglomerate that owns adult entertainment clubs across the US and abroad, and they are currently involved in legal disputes in seven states.”  
  
“I hadn’t heard about this,” Cecil said, still sounding disoriented.  
  
The bartender shrugged. “I guess I heard about it in bartending school.”

A deceptively friendly voice wafted from further inside the club, and grew louder. “Oh no, Lorne, who wouldn’t be grateful for this kind of business opportunity? I think they’ll be excited.”  
  
Kevin pivoted to face the small crowd (Maureen, Dana, Cecil, John). Beside him was a pale man in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Nothing about the man’s appearance was notable – he was clean-cut, but not particularly handsome – but something about him made the onlookers’ skin crawl. He was wearing a necktie with a woman’s silhouette on it, but instead of where her breasts would be, there were two large yellow smiley faces. The effect was horrifying.  
  
“Lorne Mallard,” said the man in the suit, as a way of introducing himself, though he did not extend his hand to be shaken. He articulated carefully, lending his words a certain weight. “Local Vice President of S.G. Holdings. I wanted to talk to you today about several exciting new developments for The Body Electric and S.G. Holdings – changes which we think will boost morale and, more importantly, the bottom line.”  
  
“We weren’t hurting for cash before,” Maureen said. “But I don’t know what will happen when we expect customers to walk into _this_ waking nightmare.”  
  
“We logged a number of customer complaints since S.G. purchased this club,” Lorne said. “One in particular was that they ‘didn’t see enough titties.’ Our enhanced lighting system addresses this problem.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s what they meant – “ Dana started.  
  
“But what are we without darkness?” said Cecil. “Without shadows, and without secrets?”  
  
“I think what Cecil means to say,” Dana said diplomatically, “is that our customers have historically enjoyed the sense of mystery and ... anonymity that they get from dimmer lights.”  
  
“Also nobody wants to see our ooky pores and blackheads,” Cecil said. “Okay, nevermind, not nobody, because that is definitely somebody’s fetish, but not most people’s. Trust me.”  
  
Lorne did not appear to consider this. “We ultimately defer to the judgment of the smi – of S.G.,” Lorne said. “We will also be placing new guidelines on what constitutes a fun and customer-friendly dance routine, as people have reportedly left the club feeling confused, angry, or semi-conscious. In fact, S.G. himself finds the concept of a pansexual strip club confusing, but has decided at this moment to, quote, ‘roll with it.’ He is also confused by men wearing makeup, and this will be discouraged.”  
  
Cecil narrowed his turquoise-lidded eyes.  
  
“Songs will be kept to a maximum of five minutes, at the end of which no items of clothing may remain on the dancer,” Lorne continued. “Songs will be limited to an approved list entitled ‘songs customers expect to hear at a strip club.’ A list of things now prohibited from dance routines include rap battles, political satire, Beethoven, firing sushi at the audience*, hanging upside down for eight minutes –“  
  
“That was art,” Cecil protested.  
  
“Live birds, ‘glitter bombing,’ tying hecklers to a chair,” Lorne continued, “and what will only forthwith be referred to as ‘the Bikini Kill incident’ –“  
  
Maureen bared her teeth in what was not a smile.

“ – and obscure and disturbing genres of electronic music -- ” Lorne continued.  
  
“You don’t mean – “ Cecil started.  
  
“Such as ‘witch house’ and ‘bloodstonecore,’” Lorne finished.  
  
Cecil threw up his hands. “With all due respect – and I will be honest, I suspect the respect due here may in fact be minimal – this club has been a rich and unlikely environment for artistic experimentation. It’s an admittedly bizarre but longstanding institution in this town, and were we to shape ourselves to be indistinguishable from any other club of similar intention, our regulars would leave.”  
  
“Regulars or no, we’d get more bodies,” Kevin said.  
  
Dana raised her eyebrows toward the ceiling.  
  
“Oh my,” Kevin laughed, not really laughing. “That sounded morbid. People. We’d get people in the door. Lots of them! With lots of money.”  
  
“We’d get assholes,” Maureen said flatly.  
  
“Our third set of complaints,” Lorne continued, “referenced how often dancers would turn down advances from customers.”  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence. “I thought we were heavily discouraged from inappropriate contact with customers,” Cecil said, looking meaningfully at Kevin.  
  
“We’ve changed our minds,” Lorne said. “Increasing contact seems...profitable. And we would have to monitor these activities, of course, to make sure they were as profitable as possible.”   
  
Maureen lunged for Lorne’s neck.  
  
Dana watched the scene unfold in what felt like slow-motion. Lorne ducked down and to the left, dodging Maureen. Cecil spun around, and Dana thought at first that he was trying to restrain Maureen, but then she saw that Kevin was also lunging forward toward Maureen. Cecil landed behind Kevin, pulling him backwards with his strong arms. Dana dodged forward, catching Maureen before she hit the floor.  
  
“How nice!” Kevin sputtered, from the headlock Cecil held him in. “A nice, strong hug!”  
  
Cecil released him slowly. “You should go,” he said in a deep, commanding voice. “You should also go,” he said to Lorne, “and we will re-negotiate at a later time.”  
  
“Huddle. Dressing room,” Cecil said to his remaining coworkers.  
  
“Oh thank god, the dressing room is the same pile of crap we left here,” Maureen said. “Anyway, I vote we end him. And walk out. End him, then walk out.”  
  
“While I think that a direct form of attack is both morally and emotionally warranted,” Cecil said, “if we are actually going on strike, we need a plan.”  
  
“Hang on, I’m updating Intern Dylan,” Dana said, texting away. “And Cecil’s right. If we strike, we need a list of demands, and I suspect they’ll be able to fill our jobs with newer, creepier people. If we sue on account of them making our work environment hostile and super illegal, we need pro bono representation and, ideally, a ruling that would establish some case-law precedent that would actually make things better for strip club workers, which is rare. Honestly I think our best bet for shutting them down would be through local government – if local government doesn’t like them, they can throw down a bunch of restrictions that would make this place impossible to operate. Unless they’ve already paid off the City Council, which – “ Dana paused here to sigh, “—wouldn’t surprise me.”  
  
“You going into politics, hon?” Maureen said.  
  
“Yes,” said Dana. “Yes, I’m thinking about it.”

“Some of us also have an attachment to the club and hope to preserve it as an artistic and near historical institution, which means wresting it from the hands of these...malevolent forces,” Cecil said. “For some of us, this has been home for as long as we can remember.”  
  
“Cecil, you’re thirty-five. I’m sure you had a life before stripping,” Dana said.  
  
“Like I said. For as long as I can remember.”  
  
Cecil looked at his phone. “Carlos says he is ‘trapped’ on the other side of Route 800 due to some ‘monster traffic,’ and also says ‘Cecil I don’t know why you’re telling me about these lights. I’m not an electrician, I’m a scientist,” Cecil said, reading aloud from his text messages. “Sorry, that was slightly irrelevant. Also, I am doing a poor job of explaining the gravity of the situation to my boyfriend.”  
  
“I’m getting some really weird updates from Intern Dylan,” Dana said. “Apparently he’s still at Marcus’ place, and Intern Vithya – who now only answers to “Erika V.” – is there too, and so are all the other Erikas, and they’re trying to get him to do something, and he doesn’t like it, and they’ve been playing keep-away with his cellphone, and he’s reportedly sitting there like a ‘big naked whiny baby.’”  
  
“Oh,” said Cecil, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh, I do believe our friendly local billionaire is the right person to have on our side in these trying times.”  
  
“Because he has more money than God?” Maureen said.  
  
“EXACTLY,” said Cecil. “Now, it appears the Erikas are having some trouble negotiating. We could go over there and help, or – I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.”  
  
“Thought of what?” Dana said.  
  
Cecil took a deep breath, and then bellowed into his phone.  
  
“CALL JOSIE.”  
  
  
  
The doors of the club swung open like an Old West saloon. (Nobody had ever seen them do such a thing before, but as of today, nothing was surprising.) The outside light silhouetted a figure in jeans, cowboy boots , and a tucked-in flannel shirt, with gray, winged Farrah Fawcett hair.  
  
“Jesus Hell Christ,” Old Woman Josie said, looking around the club. “What did they do in here?”  
  
“Josie used to dance here in the sixties,” Cecil explained to Maureen and Dana. “She was a pioneer of naked experimental performance art. Josie taught me everything I know!”  
  
“Not everything,” Josie said with a wink. “Now, you better not have called me away from auditioning for the starring role in Hedwig and the Angry Inch for nothin.’ But by the looks of it, y’all need help.”

“Yes. We need help, and it seems that the Erikas need help helping us,” Cecil said, and briefly explained the situation.  
  
“You want me to be an Angel wrangler,” Josie said wryly.  
  
“Now, that’s not a thing,” Cecil said. “The Erikas went and started their own private security company. They’re not part of an organized crime circle known as ‘Angels,’ controlled by an unseen operator. The Angels are a myth.”  
  
“Believe what you want, honey. Sure helps cover my ass,” Josie said. “But I am gonna help ya, because I’d hate to see this place go to crap, but especially because I don’t like seeing anybody messing with my girls.” She looked at Maureen and Dana. “Even if you ain’t my girls, you’re my girls, you hear?”  
  
“Did she mean that as a stripper solidarity thing or a gay thing?” Maureen whispered to Dana.  
  
“My money’s on both,” Dana whispered back.  
  
Josie unhooked a walkie-talkie from the big belt at her waist and spoke into it. “Angels, this is Charlie.”  
  
Dana and Maureen exchanged raised-eyebrow looks.  
  
“Yes, Erika, I am apprised of your situation. No, Erika, tell Erika to be quiet. ERIKA. Look, all ya gotta do is bring his ass in here. Yeah, I get that you don’t want to touch it, but there’s six a’ you and one a’ him, right?” Josie said, her patience clearly thinning. “I’ll get you transport, jeez. I know a guy. I always know a guy. Tell them Josie sent you.”  
  
She paused dramatically.  
  
“Tell ‘em you’re going for a ride.”

 

Thirty minutes later, six motorcycles roared up the street to the club, bearing one Erika each. The Erikas wore ponytails and biker jackets embroidered with wings. Clinging to the back of one Erika was Intern Dylan. Strapped to the back of another was the pale, lumpy, naked form of one Marcus Vanston, the richest man in town.  
  
Intern Dylan pulled off his loaner motorcycle helmet and stumbled into the light. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he said. “And yet, still way better than the subway.”    
  
The Erikas marched up to the door of the club in a line formation. In the middle of the line was Marcus,  hunched over. His hands appeared as though they were tied behind his back. At first, it appeared that the Erika to his right was fanning him with something large and square. As they drew closer, it became clear that the Erika to his right had a pizza box containing a lone gym sock, and Marcus was dashing toward the club to avoid it. “Alright, alright, just keep that thing away from me,” Marcus muttered. “It smells like poor people.”  
  
“We are here to negotiate,” an Erika announced, as the club door slammed shut behind them. Marcus fell forward as though he were pushed, though no one had pushed him.  
  
“Untie him,” Josie ordered, to an Erika. “Now, where are those new assholes?”  
  
“Oh, my,” Kevin sighed, emerging from the stage area, Lorne at his side. “I don’t know what’s happening here, but it looks awfully unprofitable.”  
  
“Now see here,” Marcus said, wobbling to his feet. “I’ll have you know that I, Marcus Vanston, do not do anything that does not look or smell like money. Erika here suggested that this place would be better off if I owned it, and now that I’ve been dragged away from my all-day massage and confessional session with my personal assistant, I’m inclined to agree.”  
  
“Mister Vanston, I understand that you are a man of considerable means,” said Lorne. “But so is Mister S.G. Holdings.”  
  
“You know what I think, Mister....?” Marcus trailed off lazily.  
  
“Mallard. Local Vice President of S.G. Holdings.”  
  
“Yeah, Mister Malfoy,” Marcus mumbled. His head swerved as though he may have been drunk, or motion sick from the trip, or simply too uninvested to stay upright. “I think one of us has an advantage, on account a’ only one of us is rich enough not to need to wear pants. I also think I’m here with two suitcases of money more n’ you got.”  
  
Two Erikas walked forward with briefcases, and opened them to display their contents to Lorne.  
  
Lorne emitted a high-pitched whine, and then tears began to form in his eyes. “It’s – it’s so beautiful,” he whispered.  
  
“Now, as one well-versed in the art of monetary exchange,” Lorne whispered reverently, “I know how to spot a counterfeiter.” He put his hands near the bills, as if feeling heat or electricity emanating from them. He picked up a stack of cash and ran his fingers up and down the markings, chuckling to himself. He held it near his face and flipped through it, smelling it. “Ah, yes, that’s the real thing.” He inhaled deeply. “Yes, that’s the really good stuff.”

“So, this is totally whatever,” Marcus said, his voice wandering off again, “but I got somethin’ for you to sign that says get out of town and never come back. You know. Standard legal stuff.”  
  
One of the Erikas produced a paper and quill pen from a third briefcase. “And this here’s a cursed pen that forces you to sign the contract in your own blood,” Marcus explained. “You know. Boring everyday legal mumbo-jumbo.”  
  
Lorne took the pen, and inhaled sharply. “By the power invested in me by a smiling god – “  
  
What the fuck, Maureen mouthed in Dana’s direction, but Dana wasn’t surprised. Dana shrugged, as though she had expected this. Cecil was nodding, as though Lorne’s words confirmed a long-held suspicion of his. John Peters (you know, the bartender) was nodding in the same way.  
  
Lorne signed, put his arm around Kevin, and the two of them threw themselves out of the emergency exit.  
  
“I propose,” Old Woman Josie said, “that we get this place fixed up into the dark, dreamy theater it once was. And I happen to own my own contracting company – “  
  
“Good, good,” Marcus said, sounding bored. “Is the rest of that third briefcase enough to do it with?”  
  
Josie glanced at the briefcase in question and smiled calmly. “Yes, it is.”  
  
“Good. My only stipulation is that a new sign for the Body Electric now feature me,” Marcus said. “That is, a neon sign out front, the kind that is usually shaped like words or a high heel or a naked lady, lights up to look like me. Totally nude.”  
  
“Can do,” Josie said.  
  
“Alright, ladies,” the sound guy said, coming up behind Dana and Maureen and swinging his arms around their shoulders. “I have no idea what just happened, but time to get back to business, eh?”  
  
“Fire the sound guy,” Dana and Maureen said, in unison.  
  
“Cool, I love firing people,” Marcus said. “You’re fired. Anyone else I should fire?”  
  
“No,” Cecil said evenly. “We’re your friends, Marcus.”  
  
“Ah, right you look familiar,” Marcus said, squinting at Cecil. Then he squinted at Maureen. “And I think my dog likes you. Actually, do you want the dog? I’m bored with the dog.”  
  
Maureen’s eyes grew wide. “This day is giving me emotional whiplash,” Maureen said. “But yes please. I would love a puppy.”  
  
“Do you think we can operate tonight?” Dana asked Cecil. “With the – “ she almost gagged on the words “ – renovations?”  
  
“Plus we’re down a sound guy,” Maureen said. “I mean, good riddance, but still.”  
  
“I can have an emergency disco ball up by seven, no sweat,” Josie said.  
  
“And – you remember my experimental radio hobby, right?” Cecil said. “I happen to be able to run a mixer. If we gained another intern, I could teach them to run sound, easy.”  
  
“In fact,” Cecil said, striding over to the DJ booth, “I have a song I’d really like to hear right now.”  
  
“Aww, hell yeah,” Maureen said, when she saw where Cecil was pointing.  
  
Cecil jammed a button with his thumb, and it began to boom familiarly.  


_If I wanna take a guy home with me tonight_  
_(It's none of your business!)_  
_And if she wanna be a freak an' sell it on the weekend_  
_(it's none of your business!)_ ** 

*dance party fadeout*


End file.
